Unlikely Mentor
by Hahukum Konn
Summary: Albus Dumbledore, after the events of Goblet of Fire, recruits an old friend to give Harry some special instruction. AU of OotP and beyond.
1. Chapter 1

**Unlikely Mentor**  
Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

* * *

The rotund man was huffing and puffing as he dragged a large trunk down the stairs in his comfortable, secluded mansion in an obscure little corner of Great Britain. He paused to look around at the bare spots on the wall where he'd taken down his paintings, and the impressions on the thick carpet in the room at the base of the stairs, most notably the spot where his piano once stood.

He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and irritably wiped the sweat off his forehead, then the back of his neck. "Got to practice that Muggle way of doing it," he muttered to himself before he gave in and quickly cast a cooling charm on himself, feeling a pleasant breeze waft over every inch of his body, removing his sweat and leaving him quite refreshed.

That said, he _had_ been quite harried, and he _was_ in a hurry to leave his residence before certain – er, unsavoury types might get the idea to come visiting.

So saying, the man continued dragging his trunk down the stairs, hearing it go ka-_thump_ each time he got it down a step. Slowly but surely he finally got the trunk down and lined it up next to the other one, which held the contents of his possessions from the ground floor.

"Got to get used to the way Muggles do this," he mused again, wondering if he should have just decided to use locomotor charms to levitate and move the trunks; his concession to magic _had_ been to use packing and shrinking charms where needed. He sighed, and looked around once again. His luxurious, well-appointed mansion looked so bare and neglected with half the pictures gone, his piano gone, his various liqueurs stored away, his numerous coats all packed up—

BONG! BONG! BONG!

"Yaaaaaaaaah!" The man fairly leaped out of his skin, the shock of hearing the doorbell ring causing him to momentarily forget he could Apparate at all.

A gentle, but loud and carrying voice all the same, genially said through the door, "Horace Slughorn! Aren't you going to greet an old friend?"

Slughorn, breathing steadily to calm himself, irritably looked at the front door. He had been _so_ close to disappearing, but he owed the man on the other side of the door a certain basic courtesy. He rushed over, yanked the door open, and barked, "What is it, Albus? I'm in a hurry!"

The tall, serene Headmaster of Hogwarts wore a robe in a style that was uniquely _Dumbledore_. Horace thought to himself, _He really hasn't changed at all, not since the 1970s._

Only one Headmaster of Hogwarts, Slughorn reflected, could get away with such a shocking vermillion-shaded robe on which danced golden unicorns and ponies. And that Headmaster was calmly peering about the house and about to ask a very irritating question—

"I do believe your residence has less than the usual amount of possessions in it. I do hope you haven't been robbed, have you?"

"No, of course I bloody well didn't get… never mind." Slughorn sighed. He gestured half-heartedly. "You may as well come in for a bit. Take a seat."

Dumbledore fairly beamed, his eyes beginning to shine in that familiar twinkle that marked his usual geniality and good humour. He walked in and made his way to the front sitting room and sat in a comfortable well-upholstered lounge chair. Slughorn, bringing up the rear, took the chair beside Dumbledore and wondered if he should bother with the fireplace.

At Slughorn's look, Dumbledore waved his hand. "I shan't be long, Horace. I won't draw this out any longer than I have to; time grows short and I need your help."

"_My _help?! Whatever for? I'm a retired Potions professor whose primary mission in life is to enjoy my material comforts, as I'm sure you can see from looking around," said Slughorn peevishly. If he could just get Dumbledore to _leave_…

Dumbledore sighed and looked at his old friend. "Horace, I see the trunks. You, no doubt, from one or more of your excellent connections, have heard of the events not two nights before: that Voldemort has, indeed, returned."

Slughorn was slightly proud that he didn't flinch. Too much, anyway.

"And? So what if I happen to be taking a small vacation?" asked Slughorn with some asperity.

In that irritatingly even voice, Dumbledore replied, "Hardly, Horace. If you really were taking a vacation you would make sure everything would be provided to you on the other end and you would have no need of the multifarious personal possessions you have no doubt packed in those trunks." He paused to look at Slughorn intently. "But yes, I imagine he will send his Death Eaters sooner or later to inquire with you—"

"Fine. _Fine!_ You've seen right through me. Yes, I plan to hide out somewhere. I'm not going to be brave like you, Albus, thank you very much."

"I wish to offer you protection, Horace. At Hogwarts. As long as I am alive and Headmaster, you will never have to fear for your life there."

"Mmmf." Slughorn grimaced and wrapped his coat about himself as he shifted in the chair.

"There is also the matter of Harry Potter," said Dumbledore idly.

"Harry Potter?!" Against his will, Slughorn fleetingly wondered what it would be like to get to know the famous Boy-Who-Lived.

"Indeed. The one and only, Horace. The boy needs special instruction. Time, as I said, grows short. I must know that you are safe and that I can count on you to help him," said Dumbledore earnestly, his eyes seeking out Slughorn's own.

"But what do you need me for?" protested Slughorn. "You've got a perfectly fine – well, I'll amend that – mostly fine, except for his personality issues – Potions professor. Severus Snape, as I recall; pity he graduates so few NEWT students, though."

"Occlumency."

_That_ got Slughorn's attention.

"Really now? The Boy-Who-Lived needs lessons in mental defence? Well, I _suppose_, I just suppose I could see my way to it," admitted Horace, trying to push away the tantalizing feeling of imparting knowledge to such an important young citizen of magical Britain.

"And as a personal favour to me, Horace, would you consent to teach his Potions class as well as the other first through fifth year classes?"

Slughorn squinted at Dumbledore. "Well, all right, then. But I want a nice office, not that WC you practically had me in the last time. And you pay me a full-time salary, plus expenses for Occlumency lessons. I'm going to need a Pensieve and books to give the boy."

If he thought his demands would cause Albus Dumbledore to refuse, he was mistaken. All the aged Headmaster did was tilt his head and say, "Done."

Dumbledore stood. "Horace, shall we take you and your trunks to Hogwarts? I will personally ensure this place remains unmolested by anyone."

Slughorn stood up and sighed, running his hand over his thinning hair. "I suppose it's better than what I was planning to do, which was hide out at Muggle places here and there. Do you know I even had some dragon blood tucked away to simulate a struggle if I had to?"

"Very inventive, Horace, but sooner started, sooner arrived. Shall we Apparate?"

Within a few moments, the two old men exited the house, the two large trunks trailing behind with a locomotor charm. At a respectable distance away on the large expanse of lawn, they set the trunks down, and each man took one handle.

Two sharp cracks echoed through the air, and then the air went still again.

* * *

Author Notes: There's Mentor!McGonagall, Mentor!Snape, Mentor!Dumbledore (this is even canon), and I think a few OCs here and there have been mentors to Harry Potter.

This is a Mentor!Slughorn OoTP-and-beyond AU. :) The point of divergence is that Dumbledore manages to intercept Slughorn before he goes into hiding and entices him with the prospect of tutoring Harry in something he deems vital, as he already has his suspicions about how Harry can see what Voldemort sees even when they are not in physical proximity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Unlikely Mentor**  
Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

* * *

After getting Horace Slughorn set up in a large, airy unused room on the first floor, which was (normally, but Hogwarts staircases occasionally had a mind of their own) just a flight of stairs up from the dungeons, where the Potions classes would be held, Dumbledore said, "Horace, I may be some time before I can join you for a late supper. Please remain here for the duration."

The other man nodded. "Fine; I'll just get unpacked. Heaven knows I've got loads of things to get out of these trunks."

With that, Dumbledore headed to the dungeons. It was time to meet Severus Snape.

/\/\/\/\

At the door to Severus's office, which Albus knew had a private door to the Potions professor's bedroom, he hummed a quiet tune as he unconcernedly waited for the man to open up his office door.

"Headmaster, to what do I owe the pleasure of your sudden visit? I was going to start packing up to go back to Spinner's End for a while," Severus said smoothly as Albus stepped inside the office and shut the door. Indeed, Albus could see that at the other end of the office, the door to Severus's quarters was slightly ajar.

"There are some last-minute changes I wish to make you aware of, Severus. First, based on your report on Voldemort's latest doings, I decided to move quickly to secure some extra assistance for myself and you." At Severus's frown, he continued. "I have managed to recruit Horace Slughorn to return to Hogwarts. Provisionally, he will teach the first through fifth year Potions classes, and perhaps give Harry Potter some extra tuition in the matter. In any case, this would free you up to teach only the NEWT classes and thus also allow you to more fully conduct your duties for the Order and for me."

"Hmp. I suppose you dangled the Boy-Who-Lived in front of him and he practically snapped it up like a starving fish to come out of retirement and teach again," noted Severus.

Dumbledore, not missing the acerbic note in the Potions master's voice, nodded slightly in acknowledgement. "Horace is a good man, but his ego has always required a certain amount of flattery. In any case, I have decided that in the war which is sure to come, Harry Potter needs more instruction than is conventionally given here at Hogwarts."

Severus frowned. "Will Slughorn be part of—?"

Albus shook his head. "I haven't decided yet. Be aware that you may be prodded by Voldemort to seek out Horace to ascertain what he knows about his time as Tom Riddle here at Hogwarts. The questioning will probably be indirect, but you will know it when you hear it and can craft the appropriate replies. It will probably be best to keep a certain distance from him in any case; your Slytherins will be clamouring to enter his Slug Club if he reinstates it, but their reasons may not be their own."

"He can do as he likes. But I want one favour out of this, Headmaster: this year, he brews the Wolfsbane for Lupin, not me."

Albus pursed his lips. "What if you do alternating months? Would that be acceptable?"

Severus grimaced. "Fine." His lips quirked in a small parody of a smile. "I suppose I can be thankful I won't have to deal with Potter any longer. Between not teaching him this year and him being unlikely to make an O at Potions, I suppose I can rest easy. But I still want the Defence position."

"I have some candidates in mind already, Severus." Albus sighed. "And as for Harry, Severus, I have tried and failed to reason with you on the matter, but if it will lead you to cease complaining to me I suppose I shall count it as an overall good."

"Good day, then, Headmaster." Severus politely opened the door, letting Albus leave to make his way through Hogwarts back to Horace Slughorn's new living quarters.

/\/\/\/\

Albus entered the room, and smiled at the speed at which the room had gone from being a bare chamber to a tastefully decorated room. The pictures of many of Slughorn's "acquisitions" (connections within the Wizarding world) adorned the various shelves amid the well-kept books, among them rare tomes such as the first edition of Nicholas Flamel's alchemy text from 1752. The magical paintings of famous Potions Masters and bucolic scenes lined the walls, and a rich royal blue carpet had been rolled out across the floor. A four-poster covered bed had been found (presumably by the house-elves) and placed in one corner. In another corner sat an expensive-looking mahogany desk, and situated between the entrance door and the bed was a sturdy-looking rectangular wooden table with four chairs around it.

Horace exited a door discreetly set into one wall and beamed, looking refreshed and relaxed in an evening jacket. "Hello, Albus! The house-elves were overjoyed to help get all this set up, even getting the WC magically set up and everything."

Albus smiled slightly. "Good. Have you eaten at all today? I had occasion to check the time before I arrived and it's now about seven o'clock."

"Nothing since this morning, when I started packing all my things away," admitted Slughorn.

"Good! Just sit down there. As host, I shall ask a house-elf to get us some food." Albus sat at the long end of the table. Horace sat opposite him.

Slughorn snapped his fingers. "You know, house-elves. There was a _very_ excitable one – Dubby? Dobby? Anyway, as soon as he heard I was going to be helping Harry Potter he went into positive raptures of joy and just about went through the roof, prodding the rest of the elves to rather fancify this place up for 'the new teacher of the great Harry Potter'." Horace grinned and let out a short laugh. "What did the Potter boy do, anyway? Bring that elf back to life?"

Albus chuckled. "Nothing so dramatic, I assure you. He used to be Lucius Malfoy's elf. Through some clever work on Harry's part, he was able to help Dobby become free. Since then the elf has become a sort of friend to Harry and would do almost anything for the boy who helped set him free." Albus lifted his finger. "One moment – _Dobby!_"

With a pop, the house-elf appeared before Albus. He bounced with joy and said, "What can Dobby be getting for you today? Is you wanting a roast chicken, or perhaps a beefsteak, or shepherd's pie, or—"

Dumbledore gently cut in. "I think we will have the roast chicken, if you don't mind. Also please make up some side dishes appropriate to go with the meat, and send up a good wine."

Dobby nodded eagerly, his ears flapping. He hesitated, and said, "Dobby has heard that Professor Sluggy—"

At that, Horace burst out laughing. "Oh, I'd forgotten that old nickname the students used to use!"

"Go on, Dobby," urged Albus.

"Well, Dobby thinks – perhaps it is too ambitious for a _house-elf_, but Dobby would like to help Professor Sluggy in any way he can if it means helping Harry Potter!"

Horace chewed his lip for a second. "You know, that's not a bad idea. I need to order those Occlumency books anyway, so why don't we use the elf to take the books to him so we don't have owls going to and from his place all the time? You remember that time in 1979 when that owl of mine came back with suspiciously burned feathers, and the envelope looked like it'd been tampered with? That was a confidential Potions recipe – you remember – the one for the experimental bone strengthening potion? I was supposed to ask for volunteers along with Poppy Pomfrey to see how well it worked with young people who didn't need Skele-Gro but couldn't quite be healed fully with medical charms."

Albus nodded. "And then as if by chance, a Dutch Potions Master with known sympathies to Voldemort and Grindelwald published an almost identical recipe a month later, complete with experimental trials from Durmstrang."

Horace growled. "I lost a chance at that year's Potioneer's Prize because of that nefarious incident!"

"Well then," said Albus, "Dobby, would you like to be the go-between for us and Harry? I think he would appreciate your company, as well."

Dobby looked as if he wanted to hop around the room, but barely restrained himself as he nodded enthusiastically. "You may call on Dobby any time! Now, Dobby will get you your wine and meal!"

With a pop, the elf vanished, then returned a moment later with a chilled bottle and two wine glasses. He vanished again, leaving Albus to open the bottle, pour the white wine ("Not top-drawer, but it's a good all-around white wine the Hogsmeade vintner imports, if you remember. 1985 – a good year, I think.") and propose a toast:

"To a renewed teaching career and my gratitude for your acceptance to return here, Horace."

The two men clinked their glasses, and sipped their wines. Their conversation grew general, and the meal arrived shortly after that, upon which the two of them ate mostly in silence.

* * *

Author Notes: So far it's easy sailing. Given that I'm going to be retreading / remixing OotP, I am thinking I could use a beta to bounce chapters off of to see how well they integrate with Potteresque canon. If you're interested just drop me a PM. I'll edit this once I've found a beta I can work well with. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Unlikely Mentor**  
Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

* * *

Harry Potter was not looking forward to his summer vacation, and he'd only been home one day.

Being as he had already been bellowed at by Uncle Vernon ("There's bloody hosepipe restrictions coming on any day now! I want that grass watered at the crack of dawn tomorrow and I won't have you lazing about, either!") and been loaded down with chores by Aunt Petunia ("And don't bother Dudders with them; he's got more important things to do than be made to compensate for your shiftlessness!"), he was already heartily sick of Number Four Privet Drive as he stood in the slowly lifting twilight at five o'clock in the morning, spraying water from the hose over the not-quite-immaculately-manicured lawn and Aunt Petunia's various ornamental plants (Hydrangea bushes, Agapanthus, Begonias, and so on) which would, he observed with a sigh, need trimming. Harry wondered who had been keeping up the lawn and garden while he was away at Hogwarts; given Uncle Vernon's legendary cheapness when it came to expending money on anything but himself, his wife, or his son, it must have killed him to open his wallet to pay someone to do what Harry had done for free as soon as he could hold a pair of pruning shears and then, later, push a lawnmower.

His one hope of salvation would be that his friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger would be writing him letters, and Hagrid and the Weasley family would always make sure to send him snacks and cakes, especially around his birthday (although Harry had to be careful when he tried eating Hagrid's preparations; his rock cakes were passable after being thoroughly dunked in tea). Even a letter from his godfather Sirius Black would be welcome for his spirits, although with "assembling the old crowd" it might, Harry supposed, be some time before he got Sirius's owl. At least Dudley was off his diet, as Uncle Vernon had proudly announced in the car (probably on purpose just to prove Harry was a good-for-nothing layabout as far as he was concerned) that "Dudders has been boxing for the last year!"

Dudley being off his diet meant Harry wasn't reduced to obsessively hunting for every last table scrap at mealtimes, but he still was never quite given enough to sate his hunger unless Aunt Petunia left him alone when cooking meals. A rasher or three of bacon rarely went amiss, considering how much of it Dudley consumed in the name of keeping his energy up to throw into bullying the neighbourhood children – or as Dudley termed it, training for boxing. Ditto the occasional extra carved-off piece of meat or chicken, ditto-ditto a glass of milk here and there, et cetera. Harry had raised scrounging to quite the art form in his years at Privet Drive, and he sometimes idly wondered how good he'd be at nicking stuff off the Germans if he were in Stalag Luft III in "The Great Escape" (Dudley had been on a World War II film kick a few years ago, though Harry suspected Dudley had mostly enjoyed the motorcycle race in that film).

Furtively, Harry hoped he wouldn't have the kind of nightmares where you spoke loudly in your sleep. It was bad enough he'd woken up in a cold sweat at four-thirty, the intense vision of Cedric Diggory covered in a flash of green light still vividly in his mind.

With a sigh, Harry shrugged his shoulders again to work out a slight kink in his back and moved to water another part of the lawn. He barely noticed the woman jogging down the street, her footfalls rapidly fading away as she headed off to Magnolia Crescent.

/\/\/\/\

Several hours later, Harry, having finished the watering, weeding, pruning and grass cutting, was sweaty and exhausted as he put away the lawn mower, checking to make sure the cap for the petrol was securely fastened. Sometimes Dudley liked to loosen it so the vapours would escape; the higher ratio of oil to petrol would make it harder to start the engine, and Uncle Vernon, of course, would rant about the expense of buying five pounds extra of petrol for the bloody lawnmower _and_ the oil which Harry had to mix in the prescribed fifty-to-one ratio.

Harry had once asked Hermione about why you needed to mix oil and petrol and she had frowned. "Your uncle owns an old two-stroke lawnmower? I'm amazed it still runs! We've got a four-stroke at my mum and dad's place."

Harry, not really caring about engines overmuch, had just shrugged and gone back to his chess game with Ron. It had mostly sounded like Uncle Vernon was too cheap to buy a new model. Not surprising, considering he got Harry's labour for virtually nothing.

Between the pruning and the grass cutting, Harry was at least slightly pleased to see Aunt Petunia would be able to brag about her lawn, cut so well not a blade of grass was out of place, and her flourishing begonias, ad nauseam forever and ever to the next-door neighbours, who of course cast furtive glances in Harry's direction when he was nearby.

Remembering to take his shoes off before he re-entered the house, Harry zipped upstairs (Uncle Vernon was at work and Dudley had gone off to see Piers Polkiss, thankfully) and was able to get in a quick shower, just long enough to clean himself up without risking the ire of Aunt Petunia ("you're running up our electric bill with the hot water!" she'd no doubt screech before long) before he resumed his clothes and got on with the indoor chores.

_It was going to be a long summer_, thought Harry. _Ron, Hermione and Sirius had better write soon!_

/\/\/\/\

To Harry's surprise, however, the first person to write him wasn't Ron, Hermione, or even Sirius or Lupin.

He was in his bedroom, not yet tired enough to sleep but also not feeling energetic enough to do anything worthwhile. So he stared around at his bedroom, the room his relatives had grudgingly, and under duress, given him years before, when he was about to go to Hogwarts for the first time. He supposed he had been done a small favour by the Dursleys due to the fact that they never touched anything in his room. It was as though Harry's magical ability, by his sheer presence in the room, had contaminated it from the moment he was moved into it.

So he had a few moving pictures discreetly pinned up, and he smiled upon seeing the one of him, Ron and Hermione taken some time in first year. He shook his head in amusement. They all looked so _young_!

He also had up a Quidditch-themed calendar, and he was already dutifully crossing off the days until he was either due to go back to Hogwarts, or the Weasleys would pick him up to bring him to the Burrow. He missed the wide-open expanses, the lazy days of hanging about and the occasional pick-up Quidditch match. He even missed gnome-tossing already!

But all that went by the wayside when the loud POP in his room sent Harry Potter bouncing up off his bed, snatching up his wand from the bedside table in near-unconscious reflex action.

A high-pitched, familiar voice squeaked, "Dobby is so sorry to have startled Harry Potter! Dobby has been a _bad _house-elf! Dobby shall punish himself."

Harry looked down and saw Dobby standing in one corner of his room. The little elf had already put down the box he was carrying and was about to begin bashing his head against the floor when Harry rushed over and grabbed him. "Don't, Dobby! It's okay, honestly. I just wasn't expecting you, all right?"

Harry slowly released Dobby and sat down on his bed. He patted the spot next to him and said, "Have a seat, Dobby."

Dobby happily picked up the box and brought it over to Harry. As he handed the package to Harry and clambered up onto Harry's bed, he said, "Headmaster Dumbledore has sent this to you! He is _most_ insistent that you open it up at once, Harry Potter sir."

Harry lifted an eyebrow as he got to work, tearing the brown wrapping apart to reveal…

"A book? From Dumbledore?" Harry was surprised. "Must be important, then."

He set aside the book and reached for the envelope that had fallen into his lap. The Headmaster's familiar loopy writing read, "Open this first!"

Harry extracted the letter from the envelope and began reading:

_Dear Harry,_

_As you know, Voldemort's return signifies an important change in the shape of things to come. While I don't wish to unduly burden you, I have been giving serious thought to the fact that you have experienced pain in your scar when Voldemort is not nearby, and there is undoubtedly some kind of mental connection at work here. I believe you would rather not have the pain, and so I have taken the liberty of finding you a tutor in the subject of a mental art which is likely to help block said pain._

_Your tutor-to-be recommends that you start by reading the book I have included. It is entitled, "Mental Defences for Aurors and Hit Wizards". You should be aware that it is a limited-circulation text normally only issued to competent officials in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This is the first step in learning a mental art called Occlumency, and I firmly believe that it will help you block the pain from your scar even when Voldemort is feeling intense emotions. Please do not advertise that you have this book, as it is not really intended to be used by Hogwarts students._

_I trust that you will read the book thoroughly and understand and use the techniques within it. I emphasise that it is vital that you apply yourself to the material so that your tutor can meet with you and begin the practical portion of the lessons, which may be this summer, but if not, will certainly begin when you return to Hogwarts._

_Yours very sincerely,  
Albus Dumbledore  
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
_

Harry set the letter down on his bedside table and said, "Huh!" To Dobby he said, "Sorry, I kind of forgot you were there. This is pretty important, Dumbledore said?"

Dobby nodded swiftly. "Harry Potter sir, he has especially called a professor for you! Dobby has already met him and Dobby thinks he is a kind and wise master indeed."

Harry frowned. "Can't you tell me anything more about him? Dumbledore was kind of cryptic in his letter."

Dobby's ears drooped. "Dobby is under orders not to tell you his name. The Headmaster believes in 'op..'" Dobby took a deep breath. "… in 'op-er-at-tional security'. Dobby _does_ know that the professor is at Hogwarts to stay safe from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Harry grimaced, then decided it wasn't worth arguing over. He had something to do this summer that wasn't summer homework, and the Headmaster _had_ said that it was important to get started on it straightaway. So he simply said, "Thanks, Dobby. And listen, come round any time, okay? I could use a friend."

Dobby hopped off the bed and smiled widely. "Dobby will be _happy_ to come visit Harry Potter! Does Harry Potter wish for any cooking or cleaning while Dobby is here?"

Harry felt like a light bulb had just gone on over his head! He grinned widely and gave some instructions to Dobby before the elf popped away for the night.

His summer was just about to get a lot easier than he thought it would be.

* * *

Author Notes: Still looking for a beta, and the first of the butterflies begins flapping. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Unlikely Mentor**  
Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke up to the delicious smells of bacon, eggs and toast, along with an ample pot of tea and a mug, plus cream and sugar on the side, all on a tray on his desk in his bedroom. A beaming Dobby said quietly, "Dobby got a watering can and has watered the gardens just as you has asked."

Harry couldn't figure out how to get Dobby to water the entire lawn without having to teach him how to use the water hose, but it wouldn't have mattered, since the hosepipe restrictions had come down the day after Uncle Vernon had insisted that Harry water the entire lawn, which now explained the older man's urgency in ordering Harry to get it done that instant. But Dobby knew how to water plants ("Dobby once watered former Master Lucius's trees and gardens, sir.") using an ordinary watering can, so Dobby was able to at least complete that task for Harry.

"Dobby has brought breakfast for you, Harry Potter sir. And before you asks, the Hogwarts house-elves is happy to make it for you. Some of the professors is staying at Hogwarts while the students is gone, so we has to make meals," said the house-elf earnestly.

Harry poured himself some tea and dug into the richly buttered toast. After a bite and a sip of the tea, he said, "Thanks for the breakfast and doing the chores; I appreciate it. But what about the rest?"

Dobby said a bit dejectedly, "Dobby thinks the tasks Harry Potter has asked of Dobby is too simple. All Dobby had to do was snap his fingers and all the dust is gone from the couches and tables and all the other things in Harry Potter's house. He didn't even need to shine the wooden tables or clean the windows."

Harry tried his hardest not to burst out laughing at Dobby's pronouncement. Apparently, Harry had cleaned the glass windows so well, Dobby couldn't improve on it. And Aunt Petunia telling Harry after last night's supper to shine up the wooden tables had, he guessed correctly, been make-work; she must have done it herself the previous week.

When he could trust himself to speak normally again, Harry said, "Don't worry about that, Dobby. I'll figure out what you need to do every day. In fact, don't do anything until you check with me first – just in case, you know. Do you mind coming here every day?"

Dobby shook his head. "Not at all! Why would Dobby think it a _chore_ to speak to the great Harry Potter?!"

Harry, by now working on the bacon, just nodded and made a noncommittal noise.

"Does Harry want Dobby to take letters to Harry's friends now?"

Harry checked the working clock in his room and said, "Hmm. Six-thirty. Why don't you wait a while first? I'll get my letters started in the meantime."

Hedwig hooted from her cage in the corner; Harry had left it open so she could enter and leave as she saw fit. "Sorry, Hedwig. I promise, you'll get to do owl post eventually. I'm just preparing the back channels with Dobby."

Dobby tilted his head. "Dobby wonders what you means."

Harry scratched his head and drank some of his tea. "I'm not totally sure myself, but people say 'back channel' when they mean they need a secret way to talk to someone; that's my best guess."

"Ah! Dobby understands. Dobby used to do this for former Master Lucius when he wished to send secret messages!"

"Yeah, so anyway, I'll write letters for Ron, Hermione and Sirius. Dumbledore too, I need to thank him for the book. Just be careful about Hermione's letter; she lives in a Muggle area like this one; you can't be seen when you deliver the letter into her postbox or mail slot. You know what I'm talking about?"

"Dobby thinks he understands." Dobby stood up straight and declared, "Dobby will not set off the Trace at Miss Grangey's place!"

Harry squinted. "The Trace?"

Dobby looked somewhat abashed. "You remembers when Dobby caused a Hover Charm here? Dobby is very sorry about that, too."

Harry nodded. He knew, in retrospect, it had been Dobby's extremely clumsy way of trying to protect him, but it had still gotten him in loads of trouble with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

"Dobby purposely made it seem like a wizarding spell so it would set off your Trace. House-elves has their own magic, but Dobby does not know how to explain why the Trace doesn't see it. You is ought to ask an adult wizard about it." Dobby peered at the breakfast tray. "Is your food not good, Harry Potter sir? You has only eaten some of the eggs."

Harry realised with a start he needed to finish his breakfast. "Gimme a sec, Dobby." He wolfed down the remainder of his breakfast and poured himself a fresh hot cup of tea, then added the cream and sugar. He took a sip and felt the comfortable warmth suffuse within him as he relaxed in his chair.

"Anyway, okay. I'll ask someone. Meantime, can you take the tray away? I need to get started writing my letters. Do I just call your name when I want you back?" inquired Harry.

Dobby nodded and flicked his fingers at the breakfast tray; it smoothly lifted, teapot, plate, cutlery and all, then hovered near Dobby. "Dobby will need to get the cup from you later, sir."

"Okay. See you later!"

Dobby and the tray popped away, and Harry grabbed up a pen and looseleaf paper (he didn't feel like buggering around with parchment, and he figured Ron could use the amusement, as would Mr Weasley) and began composing his letters. After he finished them, he called Dobby back, sent the letters off, then launched into his "Mental Defences" text.

He found it surprisingly engrossing, and it explained the techniques of centering oneself ("clearing the mind is not, as some people assume, trying to blank it of all thought; instead, it is achieving a state where one is aware of one's own thoughts as well as any foreign influences, usually via Legilimency."), and how to begin developing a sense for mental invasion.

/\/\/\/\

"BOY!"

Uncle Vernon's voice fairly rattled the house to the rafters. Harry rolled his eyes, realising it was only a matter of time before Uncle Vernon insisted on finding something new to complain about. At least, he thought, he had managed to just get to the part where the book began explaining how to construct mental "barriers" against attack, and it was past nine in the morning on a Saturday.

He closed the book, and went downstairs. Uncle Vernon, at the front door, was peering at Harry suspiciously. Finally he seemed to decide that whatever Harry had done, it hadn't involved any funny business. He barked, "The hosepipe restrictions don't forbid a car wash. You are to wash my car until it shines, you hear me? And _no_ funny ideas about trying to drive it!"

"I can't drive anyway," Harry grumbled.

Uncle Vernon's mustache seemed to bristle menacingly as his lips twitched. "For all I know you freaks probably can just wave your whatsits and make the car run automatically!" For good measure, his face took on a rather remarkable resemblance to the color of a brick wall.

Harry didn't bother responding. He just looked outside and said, "Can I go now?"

"Fine. Get it done; you know where everything is."

Before long, Harry was standing in the summer sun, leaning over the roof of Uncle Vernon's fancy car as he tried to reach into the middle to soap up every corner of it. That, thought Harry, wasn't the worst part, though; it was cleaning the wheels and tyres because he had to kneel on the pavement and that hurt his knees a bit. That said, the repetitive work lulled Harry's mind into a kind of free-associating state, and with a sudden start of realisation, he understood how clearing his mind worked! He noticed he didn't _feel_ quite as much, either, and he wondered if other wizards or witches who practiced Occlumency found they tended to be guarded in their emotions.

While Little Whinging wasn't a bustling metropolis, it also wasn't a dead-quiet small town either. There were cars running up and down the road every now and then, and the occasional babble of conversation could be heard here and there. At some point during his work on the car, Harry heard something that sounded like a hissed, "…that dung!" from somewhere about thirty feet away. He looked around for the source of the sound, but didn't see anyone looking like they'd just stepped in anything nasty. He _did_ see a black-haired woman down the road looking a bit anxious, but that was about it as far as pedestrians out and about at the time.

Harry shrugged and continued on with the car wash, garnering Uncle Vernon's grudgingly grunted approval when he finished, upon which Aunt Petunia came up, scowled at him and seemed to be trying to decide something. After a few moments, she gracelessly said, "No chores. Dudders does his own laundry now and I won't have your freakiness over mine or Vernon's."

Harry, nonplussed, began going upstairs as his aunt and uncle went off to watch television. Letting him off the laundry was one of those things the Dursleys seemed to be of two minds about. On the one hand, it was another thankless task they could foist off on Harry. But on the other hand, it _was _a source of potential embarrassment all around. When he was younger, he mostly did the laundry, but as he got older, the Dursleys tended to find reasons why he didn't need to do it anymore.

Harry, not exactly a complete dunce in the matter of what happened as boys entered their teens, figured he knew why Dudley was doing his own laundry, then promptly and violently shuddered. He decided he needed a distraction, and quickly. He raced up the rest of the stairs and re-entered his bedroom. Upon reopening the Mental Defences text, he proceeded to follow the recommended exercises and tried to assess how good his mind would be in repelling an attack. He had to admit to himself, unless he knew someone with "Legilimency" (which sounded a lot like mind-reading) he wasn't going to have a good idea of what he was and wasn't capable of.

He hoped Dobby would be back soon with some letters. He would need to make arrangements so it appeared that he was using Hedwig to send perfectly ordinary messages, while sending the real ones via house-elf.

* * *

Author Notes: Hope y'all like it - and yes, still looking for a beta. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Unlikely Mentor**  
Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

* * *

Harry got several letters over the next few days. The first was from Ron.

_Harry,_

_Brilliant idea! I can send some ordinary-looking letters with Errol, even, if you want to make it really look good. Meanwhile, here's the __real__ letter. So far, Mum's been so happy that I and Ginny came back she's still sort of forgotten to really load us down with chores. 'Course (you can tell Hermione for me, I'm not going to myself) I haven't exactly used the time to get started with my summer homework yet._

Harry chuckled. He could easily imagine Ron enjoying some lazy days at home, just not having to worry about homework or tests or anything.

_She's been less than thrilled about Fred and George being back, though. They already exploded something in their room the morning after they got back and Mum just about did her nut. She yelled at them that just for once she'd like to be able to sleep in without worrying they'd blast the wall out the side of the house and made them go de-gnome the garden before they got breakfast._

Harry hoped Mrs Weasley didn't find out about the thousand Galleons until the time was right, but he suspected they had ways to get to Gringotts and secret the money away.

_Anyway, mate, Dobby's just thrilled to be sending around all these secret messages; where'd you get the idea to use a house-elf, anyway?_

_Your friend,  
Ron._

_PS. Something funny was up – just remembered. Dad and Mum were having a chat, and I could've sworn they were mentioning someone walking around near your house. No idea what it means, though._

Harry scratched his head and wondered as well, but soon put the matter out of his mind as he focused on the Mental Defences text. He was now about midway through, and he expected to be finished within another week or two, whereupon he supposed it likely he would get another book.

Hermione's letter followed soon after Ron's.

_Dear Harry,_

_I think the idea of using Dobby to send 'back channel' messages is fantastic! I don't think many wizards or witches really do this much, considering how noticeable owls are and how the length of time can depend on unpredictable factors like needing to eat, sleep, and so on. But as I said in first year, logic is something generally deficient in the magical world._

_You should know that people have already been over at my house; a woman named Hestia Jones and a man named Sturgis Podmore came to visit, ostensibly because they were following up a minor magical-use violation (which is bollocks; I don't use my wand at home, ever!) but they seemed almost like they were casing the place for a robbery._

_I'm going to write the Headmaster after this; can you send a message via Hedwig so I can borrow her? I think it's important that he know someone seems to be probing at Muggleborn students' home defences._

Harry frowned. He wondered if this is what Ron was talking about; maybe the people skulking around his place and, apparently, those of other students as well, were agents of the Ministry – that same Ministry which, in the issues of the Daily Prophet he was reading, studiously avoided mentioning anything at all about Voldemort or Death Eaters.

More ominously, they could be Death Eaters themselves, gathering information before an attack.

_I've already begun the Potions work, since by Professor Snape's standards, it's relatively straightforward. I don't __suppose __either you or Ron got started on it (or any other assignment) yet, have you?_

Harry couldn't help but laugh at Hermione's do-homework-though-the-skies-fall attitude and decided, just on a lark, to start on his Charms homework this early into the summer (it was just shy of July); he was pretty sure that also didn't involve any practical wandwork.

_Anyway, thanks for writing! And please send Hedwig soon._

_Best wishes,  
Hermione_

Harry promptly scrawled out a bland message on a scrap of parchment, stuffed it in an envelope, and gave it to Hedwig. "Take this to my friend Hermione, okay? And she needs to borrow you to send a letter to Dumbledore, all right?"

Hedwig gave a brief bark that sounded almost like "Prek", then flew off with the envelope and zoomed high into the air. The odds were many to one against that someone in the neighborhood would notice, and in any case, Hedwig would soon be just another bird flying through the sky as far as anyone was concerned.

Sirius's letter was short, but to the point.

_Harry,_

_I never in a million years thought of using a house-elf to send messages like this. And you say Lucius Malfoy used to do this sometimes? God, that hurts, Harry. __Lucius Malfoy__ being smarter than me – I'll never live this down!_

Harry grinned. He hoped Sirius would be able to get one over on Malfoy one of these days.

_In all seriousness, though, the "old crowd" has been reassembled and inasmuch as I need to work with Snape, I can grin and bear it._

Was it Harry's imagination or had Sirius been about to write something besides "Snape"? The letter a looked like it had been written in such a way as to overprint a letter that might have been "i" or "l". Harry decided it wasn't really important and kept reading.

_We're going to be using my parents' old place and while I'm bound not to tell you where it is, I __can__ tell you it'll be about the safest bloody place in the whole of Great Britain to hold meetings and, when the time is right, to bring you to meet your friends. (Dumbledore made some comments about bringing the Weasleys here and, if possible, your friend Hermione as well)_

_If Dobby can't keep transporting messages back and forth between you and me, Remus and I'll figure another way around using owls. We weren't Marauders for nothing!_

_Stay safe, don't do anything careless, and I'll see you as soon as everything's been made safe._

_Your loving irascible handsome godfather,  
Sirius_

Dumbledore's letter was short and succinct, delivered by Dobby one morning with breakfast.

_Harry,_

_I am gratified to learn that you are reading and learning from the book I sent you. Your tutor may elect to begin practical lessons in concert with a second book you should read, or may request that you read the second book prior to practical lessons. I repeat again that this technique of mental defence is not normally taught to students, and indeed you would not require it but for the fact that Voldemort seems to be able to inflict unwelcome pain and images upon you._

_One suggestion is that the method of resistance is analogous to that of resisting the Imperius Curse, which the false Mad-Eye Moody happened to brag about shortly after we met for tea in my office._

_In any case, Harry, thank you for appreciating the importance of this task and please keep up your excellent pace._

_Yours sincerely,  
Albus Dumbledore_

_PS. Dobby informs me that he is in regular contact with you; in an emergency this could prove vital. While I don't wish to unduly alarm you, please make sure both you and Dobby are aware of anything or anyone unusual in your neighbourhood._

Harry had to admit that post-script was sensible. Given what Ron and Hermione had been saying, it stood to reason he might either meet a Ministry minion, or a Death Eater in disguise.

That said, it seemed odd that Dumbledore still seemed to think Harry shouldn't be throwing himself, body and soul, into the battle against Voldemort, what with "not being unduly alarmed" and all that. Wasn't he practically the centrepiece of the entire thing, considering how much energy Voldemort had exerted in settling accounts with the boy who he had failed to kill at one year old?

Harry thought for a bit more, then dismissed the thought from his mind and picked up his half-finished Charms assignment to look it over once more. Meanwhile, he knew that every morning, before anyone was awake, Dobby would fill a watering can from the lake at Hogwarts, and would make sure all Aunt Petunia's gardens were flourishing. After that, Dobby would routinely vanish all the dust on any inanimate object in the house (no matter how minute) and then quietly clean anything left in the sink and pile the items on the counter in neat stacks for Harry to put away. He still didn't get to polish any furniture, but Dudley smeared his fingerprints all over the outside of one of the windows (who knew packets of crisps could be that oily?), upon which Aunt Petunia insisted he do the cleaning the first thing next morning when he was watering the gardens. Harry also reserved to himself the tasks that he knew Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia needed to see him doing (which meant he would need to cut the grass again soon, and probably wash Uncle Vernon's car as well).

Aunt Petunia would squint at Harry occasionally, clearly wondering how he could be so quiet in doing his chores, but given that they _did_ get done, she couldn't exactly complain without looking spiteful, even by her standards.

But Dobby had been just a fantastic help, freeing up all that time for Harry to do things he liked doing, and the little elf never complained once. Harry resolved to get Dobby a big present when he could get a chance to do some shopping, and made sure to thank Dobby at every meal.

The only real thing that rankled at Harry was that neither the Muggle news nor the Daily Prophet reported anything that sounded like Voldemort was on the move. He wished _something _would break, some scrap of information that would tell him that things were starting to happen.

And that made Harry feel a bit restless, though he knew the warning about getting what you wished for.

* * *

Author Note: And the butterfly wings flap again. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Unlikely Mentor**  
Chapter 6

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

* * *

The first inkling Harry had that the Ministry was doing more than just ignoring him was on the third page of the Daily Prophet he was reading that early July: a news article about a man trying to pass off an old Cleansweep as a Nimbus 2000 by using clever glamour charms reported the Magical Law Enforcement Squad investigator saying, "You might say that fellow was telling a tall tale worthy of Harry Potter!"

Harry fumed, "Bloody fantastic. Some smart-arse is probably going to start calling me a delusional megalomaniac pretty soon. That's Voldemort's job description, not mine!" He tossed the paper across the room and tried to re-center and clear his mind like his book suggested. He did have to admit, whatever he'd been doing, it seemed to make his dreams less vivid: one time he had dreamt he was in some sort of maze of corridors, but they didn't draw his attention, and they had vanished and been replaced by a more enjoyable one in which Harry had been practicing broom flying on a warm spring day. That hadn't lasted, and he'd woken up to a chilling replay of that horrible night when Voldemort had returned. Thankfully Dobby's excellent tea helped calm his mood and let him relax as he sipped it while reading the Prophet.

At that moment, the door to his bedroom burst open. Harry, displeased at the intrusion, turned and saw it was Dudley. "What do _you_ want?" He spat.

"Hey, I heard you yelling this morning. You're gonna be in for it when I tell Mum," said Dudley nastily.

Harry had a sinking feeling he knew what Dudley would say next—

"Oh, Cedric! Don't die, Cedric!" Dudley said in a mocking, dainty high pitched voice. "Who's he, your boyfriend?" Dudley sniggered.

Harry burst out of his chair. "Shut UP! You've no idea what you're talking about!"

Dudley reared back in mock surprise. "Oh, I'm so frightened! As if, I could probably give you the old one-two! C'mon, then, huh?"

"Try it, _Big D_. Do your friends know your mum calls you Duddy Dinkydums? How about Ickle Diddykins? Think I could call you those around your friends? You know, while we're sharing each other's deepest secrets." Harry almost snarled; Dudley was setting him on edge enough to _almost _make him grab for his wand, heedless of the underage magic laws…

Dudley, flushing, backed up from the door.

Harry sneered. "Go beat up some kids like you and your mates with one brain cell to share among them like you usually do. I heard you telling Polkiss you wanted to do Mark Evans because you thought he cheeked you for saying hi. Of course, that's just what normal people do, you know." Harry paused. A sudden surge of anger roared through him as he yelled, "As opposed to telling you you're a pig's arsehole that walks on two feet! NOW GET OUT OF MY FACE!"

Harry slammed the bedroom door, rattling everything in the room. He sat down on his bed, seething as he tried to get a handle on that sudden fit of rage. It was so _strange_, thought Harry. Even when Dudley provoked him in the past, he had rarely, if ever gone in for outright swearing at his cousin. The fit of anger he'd had unsettled him enough he decided to go outside, something he hadn't really done much of the first few days back.

But first…

"Dobby!"

The little elf materialised in front of him. "Does Harry Potter feel all right?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm all right," Harry said, not really meaning it. "Listen, I need a favour. Is there a way I can put a silencing charm or something on this room so nobody can hear me when I'm sleeping in here at night?"

Dobby's ears drooped. "Dobby cannot remove the Trace, so you cannot do that." Dobby perked up. "But Dobby could do this! And Dobby will not activate the Trace, either, since he will use house-elf magic!"

Harry grinned. "Brilliant! Okay, do what you need to do."

Dobby waved his arms briefly, and just for a moment the walls, door and window seemed to glow, then fade back to their normal colours. "Now, nobody will hear you unless they is in the room."

"Can I still hear stuff outside?" inquired Harry.

Dobby nodded. Harry grinned. "Great, thanks so much!" Harry stood up and said, "Listen, I'm going to go out for a bit. You can stay here if you like, or if you've got stuff to do you can go back to it."

"If Harry Potter doesn't mind, Dobby would like to accompany him." Dobby looked a bit bashful, and Harry hesitated. He said gently, "You'd need to be invisible or something, because… well, most Muggles probably haven't ever seen anyone like you, you know."

Dobby grinned. "Dobby knows how to remain very well-hidden! And yes, Dobby can make himself invisible if he has to."

Harry nodded. "Well then, see you outside."

He tried to not think about how nice it would be to just smash Dudley's face in.

/\/\/\/\

Shortly after, Harry was enjoying the midmorning sun; there was a breeze in the air that kept it fresh and cooled him off just enough to appreciate the warm day as he ambled down Wisteria Walk. He had pretty much calmed down by that point, as he didn't feel like he wanted to just smash something. Mrs Figg, as if by some unknown signal, bustled out of her house while Harry was still just a little too far away to easily see her window.

_Oh, God,_ thought Harry. _If she invites me in to tea so I can look at those bloody pictures of her cats again, I might die of boredom_.

And sure enough, Mrs Figg waved hello and said, "Oh, Harry! Won't you come on in for a bit?"

Harry pasted a smile on his face and said, "Er, no thanks. I'm just out walking."

Mrs Figg grimaced. "But it's so _hot_ out! Wouldn't you rather be inside?" To one of her cats, she barked, "Mr Tibbles! Behave!" The offending cat immediately quit nibbling at the bottom of her shoe, and sat and stared at the two of them.

Harry, by now desperate to leave, knew he was being a bit brusque as he said, "Well, er, another time. Really got to go—bye!"

He walked very quickly to the nearby park, breathing a sigh of relief that he wasn't in that stuffy house having to listen to her go on about those bloody cats. However, by a thicket of bushes, he felt as sudden tug on his trousers. He stopped abruptly, then knelt down as if to tie his shoe. Dobby's voice quietly reached his ears: "Dobby thinks there is something different about Mrs Figg."

Harry snorted. "You're joking, right? She's this batty old lady who breeds cats. She shows me these stupid pictures of them and rattles on like they're such wonderful little people."

Dobby's voice grew insistent. "Dobby is _not_ mistaken. House-elves needs to know how to sense magical auras of their masters and mistresses, so they senses everybody's magic. Mrs Figg is a _Squib!_"

Harry, feeling a little bowled over, said, "Assuming you're right, how would I even know the difference between her and a Muggle?"

"Dobby trusts that you will find a way."

Harry snorted as he stood. The little elf's unshakable faith that Harry could do anything he wanted was, he thought, a little misplaced. There wasn't a Squib-revealing spell, and in any case, he didn't see that it made much of a difference. With that firmly fixed in his mind, he made his way to the swings. Luckily, so far, Dudley and his friends had only broken one of the set of four (so far), so Harry sat on one, and idly pushed himself back and forth and let the sense of melancholy envelop him as he let his mind give in to the overhanging sense of deep loss and sorrow for losing Cedric Diggory.

It wasn't fair! If Harry had just been quicker on the uptake – been a little faster in his thinking – he could've sent Cedric back, alive, or at least gotten the older boy to go into hiding while he, Harry, faced Wormtail and Voldemort. Dark thoughts like this chased round and round in his mind for a seemingly timeless interval.

/\/\/\/\

Harry broke out of his funk as an invisible hand shook his knee. "Harry Potter! You is ought to get back to your house. Dobby cannot stay much longer as he needs to go back to Hogwarts to help clean the classrooms."

Harry blinked owlishly. All he could see in front of him was a slight haze and two smallish footprints in the sand. He carefully eased to his feet, watching as the footprints suddenly formed in the sand as they moved away from him. He muttered, "Thanks. Just be careful, okay?"

He looked up; the sun had visibly shifted in the sky, and Harry thought it could have been anywhere from an hour to three he'd been out. He'd barely noticed the fitful breezes gusting at his face, but realised he might have a bad sunburn on the back of his neck. If so, he decided he could ask Hermione how to deal with that; he'd rather get his teeth pulled than ask Aunt Petunia for anything to help a sunburn.

As Harry ambled back home, he tried keeping a keener eye on his surroundings. Was anyone he saw someone who didn't belong in the neighbourhood? A stranger who might be more than he or she seemed?

He sighed in defeat as he tried cataloguing the people he saw: there were just too many of them. Was it the brown-haired woman who normally jogged 'round the area at the crack of dawn? Or was it the gardener he could see down the road, carefully trimming a hedge? Was it the attractive girl he saw in the doorway of a house giving him a repulsed look at his tatty clothes?

He gave it up as a bad job and trusted that Dobby would tell him if he sensed someone magical.

When Harry got back to Privet Drive, he found to his irritation that the Dursleys had locked the door against him. He banged loudly on the door, knowing that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, if nothing else, at least hated being the focus of negative attention, which he was promising in spades by standing outside bellowing, "I live here, so bloody well let me in!"

Uncle Vernon whipped the front door open and gracelessly gestured Harry in. He slammed the door and bellowed, every hair on his mustache seemingly bristling to match Vernon's attitude, "That's the last time I let you in after Dudley gets home! Next time you can bloody well sleep in the shed for the night. You understand me?!"

"Yes, it's easier to pretend I don't exist, isn't it?" Harry didn't bother waiting for an answer and went up the stairs, leaving Uncle Vernon to stomp back into the dining room.

He went into his bedroom and flopped on the bed. To the room at large, he said, "Anybody magical out there, Dobby?"

The elf appeared beside the bed with a small pop, and he said, "Does you remember when you said you smelled tobacco?"

"Bloody hell, yeah, now that you mention it, it was when I was passing the alleyway going to Magnolia Crescent. Caught a whiff like someone'd been smoking a pipe there recently."

"A wizard was under an invisibility cloak, Dobby is sure of it!"

A sudden uneasy gnawing at Harry's stomach made him sit up. Who were these people? Why was he and Hermione the sudden subject of intense observation by unknown parties? Could Voldemort have already begun setting the pieces in motion for Harry's capture, or worse?

Harry had found the down side of getting what one wished for.

* * *

Author Notes: Hope you're all enjoying it. I could still use a beta reader if anyone's feeling up for the job. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Unlikely Mentor**  
Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

* * *

One morning, when Harry woke up to get his breakfast and pay the Daily Prophet owl, he noticed Dobby waiting patiently with a parcel and beside him, a very crabby-looking house-elf. "What's all this about?" He frowned and peered at the new elf.

"Sirius Black has asked Dobby to introduce you to Kreacher and hand you this parcel." Dobby, unusually for him, frowned at the other house-elf, who spoke in a grating voice. "Kreacher will greet the half-blood Harry Potter, but only because Master Sirius forbade Kreacher to say anything else." He muttered something Harry didn't quite catch, and frankly, Harry thought the sooner Kreacher left, the better.

Dobby seemed to think the same, for he pontificated, "Kreacher is a _bad _house-elf!" He turned to the other elf and shouted, "You should be delivering things from Sirius Black instead of needing Dobby to fulfill such requests! You is ought to be ashamed of yourself, Kreacher!" Despite the situation, Harry nearly burst out laughing at seeing Dobby actually shake his finger at the other house-elf.

"Dobby will return later, Harry Potter sir." With two pops, the house-elves disappeared, and a rather bemused Harry Potter turned to the parcel as he poured himself some tea and began eating.

The parcel, as it turned out, contained a mirror and a letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_Dumbledore's coming any day now to do the _Fidelius_ on my house, so if he hasn't already he will by the time you get this. I'm not sure if a house-elf that isn't mine can cross it, but I do know the mirror will work because James and I tested it across the protections that surround Hogwarts. If these things work through that they'll work through the _Fidelius_, too._

_Either Moony or I will have this mirror at all times. Just call into it, "Sirius Black" or "Remus Lupin" and whoever's got it will answer. Stay in touch, okay? The war's not heating up too much yet, but things _are_ happening, just nothing the Daily Dishrag will dare print._

_We'll have you moved here as soon as it's safe, all right?_

_Your loving godfather and your furry professor,  
Sirius and Remus._

"Cool!" Harry blurted. He grabbed up the mirror and said, "Sirius Black!"

The reflecting surface went opaque for a moment, and then Sirius's face showed in it. He grinned and said, "Hi, Harry! How're you holding up over there?"

"Much better, now that I can talk to you and Professor Lupin."

Sirius barked a laugh and said to his left, "You hear that? Professor Moony!"

Lupin's voice sounded through the mirror as he said, "Very funny, Sirius. That got old after the first few jokes about it when we saw each other again. Harry? Can you hear me?"

"Yes," Harry replied.

Remus continued, "Good! By the way, call me Remus. Now listen, the Fidelius has just been laid on this house, so between all the previous enchantments and the new charm, we're undetectable to anyone and everyone. It should just be a matter of time now until we can bring you over, all right?"

Harry grinned. "Brilliant!" He remembered what happened earlier and said, "Dobby brought Kreacher over here, by the way."

Sirius groaned and rolled his eyes. "I thought you should at least meet the foul little bugger in case Dobby can't bring a message to you for any reason. If I could get rid of him I would, but he's already been around enough to hear things he'd love to run off and tell Narcissa about."

Harry frowned. "What does Mrs Malfoy have to do with you?"

Sirius grimaced. "Sorry, kiddo. I sometimes forget you probably haven't heard everything about this world's pureblood system. Fact is, many of the 'old families' are somewhat related and in my case, Narcissa's my cousin." He made a face. "What's worse, that insane witch Bellatrix Lestrange is her sister, so she's _also_ my cousin. I'll show you the whole family tree sometime."

"Oh, so that's why. Kreacher said some stuff that sounded like he agreed with the pure-blood thing, too."

"Not surprised at all. Before I got this place opened up the only thing he had any contact with was my mother's portrait, and you can believe my parents believed all that rot about the purebloods being better." Sirius sighed. "Anyway, enough about my family. What've you been up to?"

Harry related the events of the last week or so, and Remus Lupin's face showed up in the mirror next to Sirius's by the time he finished.

Remus said, "Well, first off, Arabella Figg _is_ a squib, and Dumbledore _did_ admit to putting her near you to keep an eye on you since you were placed at your relatives' house. Second off, that tobacco smell? If I didn't know better I'd say Dung was patrolling near your place."

Sirius snorted. "_That_ unreliable sod who always stinks? I'd sooner trust Sni—uh, _Snape_ to actually keep an eye on you than that bloke. He's always trying to lift the expensive dishes and cutlery here. And he sidles up to Moony here just last night and says, 'Got your Wolfsbane here, only five Galleons.'" Sirius laughed again.

"Of course it was just flavoured Firewhiskey, so I told him politely to go away," added Lupin.

"By which he means after he said, 'bugger off', I came along and kicked Dung in the arse and told him what he could do with his fake Wolfsbane. Stupid clod isn't even that great a con artist."

Harry had a sudden flash of rememberance. "Dung! Listen, Sirius, Pr.. um, Remus! I heard a woman curse about dung under her breath. I thought it was 'cos she stepped in… um, you get the idea. But maybe she was waiting for that guy!"

Harry heard the snap of fingers. The two men said as one, "Tonks!"

Sirius grinned. "Or, as she hates to be called, Nymphadora. She's the daughter of my favourite cousin, Andromeda. She's a Metamorphmagus, so she can look like just about anyone. I bet she's been assigned to patrol near you, too. She's an Auror, too, by the way, as well as being in the Order."

"Nice," replied Harry. "What do they do, anyway?"

"Dark wizard catchers. There's also the Magical Law Enforcement Squads and the Hit Wizards. Their duties overlap a bit, but the basic point is they go after criminals."

Harry wondered what it would be like to be an Auror, and started thinking about ways to recognise this Nymphadora Tonks, whoever she was. Maybe Dobby could help there, too. Harry heard some noises through the mirror and Sirius said, "That's our cue, kiddo. An Order meeting's due to happen soon. We'd better go, but call us any time, okay?"

"Got it! Bye!"

The mirror faded, then went back to reflecting Harry's image. He thought that was a pretty neat thing and wondered if Hermione could come up with something like that for herself, him, and Ron.

Speaking of which, Errol flapped in and dropped off an envelope. He tiredly hopped onto Hedwig's perch and rested himself, wheezing as he did so.

Harry glanced at the envelope and then peered more closely at the flap. Was it his imagination, or did it look like it had been closed a bit carelessly? He held the envelope up to the light and then tilted it this way and that.

He wasn't quite sure, but if pressed on the matter, he would've _sworn_ it looked like it had been sealed twice, not once; there was a little bit of gum on the envelope that looked like the flap had been over it originally and then been lifted off. He recalled once seeing a crime drama on the telly that he could just make out when he'd been doing the dishes in the kitchen, and at one point the bad guys were steaming open an envelope to see what it said inside, then the boss cleverly resealed it to make it look like nobody'd peeked.

Just to be sure, Harry looked at the letter itself. The message was full of the usual inanities Ron had come up with to fool anyone who might be snooping: Quidditch, chores, the Burrow's ghoul – nothing that would reveal any insight to anyone who happened to be putting his nose where it didn't belong.

Harry was doubly thankful Ron had stuck to giving him the real low-down via Dobby's letter deliveries. By now, having worked his way through breakfast, Harry drank off the last of the tea and called for Dobby, who returned the tray and tea to Hogwarts, then returned for the day's instructions.

Harry thought, then decided to go ahead with his intended confrontation. "Dobby, I think it's time I had a chat with Mrs Figg, hmm?"

Dobby nodded, and said, "Dobby will make sure no-one harms you."

"Good. Listen, if I smell tobacco again, I'll snap my fingers once. You tackle whoever it is and we'll see if Sirius was right about it being this guy Dung, okay?"

Harry reflected that seeing a house-elf grin at the idea of being a bodyguard was actually a bit unsettling.

* * *

Author Notes: So, a short update. :) Still lookin' for a beta.


	8. Chapter 8

**Unlikely Mentor**  
Chapter 8

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

* * *

Harry, trying to warily eye the road ahead and to either side without looking obvious about it, knew that Dobby was hiding himself among the many bushes and hedges that lined the sidewalks near the houses he was walking past. He'd stuck his wand under his shirt into his waistband, so he was walking a bit awkwardly, acting as though he had an upset stomach which was why he was occasionally holding his hand against his stomach.

He decided to divert down the side path that linked Wisteria Walk and Magnolia Crescent, and then circle back 'round to Mrs Figg's place. That said, he didn't catch the smell of tobacco until it was almost too late to avoid being seen by people out of the alleyway, but snapped his fingers in time. Immediately, Dobby popped into existence next to Harry, stuck his hand out at a seemingly empty spot—and snagged cloth out of thin air! An invisibility cloak flew up, revealing a woman as it pooled down around her feet.

Harry had his wand out almost immediately, and Dobby blurted, "Who is you?! Is you here to hurt Harry Potter?!"

The woman, who stood still and unmoving, apparently partly immobilised, had black hair and an otherwise rather ordinary appearance. Her Muggle outfit seemed a tad old-fashioned. She said softly, "If your house-elf will consent to unpetrify me, I can show you my official identification. I am Hestia Jones, an Auror with the Ministry of Magic."

Harry squinted and said, "So why do you have an invisibility cloak that stinks of tobacco? And Hermione said you were casing her place earlier this month. Are you a Death Eater trying to find out stuff about me and my friends?"

The woman stared at Harry in disbelief. "A _Death Eater_? Are you crazy?! I'm an _Auror_, for Merlin's sake!"

"That's never stopped anyone from being able to wear two hats at once, has it?" scoffed Harry.

The frantic pattering of feet down the alleyway made Harry look up, and he groaned as he saw Mrs Figg dash up to the three of them. "Harry! What on Earth do you think you're doing, Petrifying Hestia? She's one of _us_, you know!"

Harry squinted at Mrs Figg. "Who's 'us', anyway? Considering you couldn't be arsed to tell me you're actually a Squib working for Dumbledore to watch me while you prattled on about those effing stupid pictures of all your cats every time the Dursleys wanted to dump me on someone, I'm not going to have Dobby release her just on your say-so!"

Mrs Figg seemed to deflate as she sighed wearily. "I know, Harry, and I'm sorry." She looked down at the cat accompanying her, who seemed to get a message, for he (or she?) ran back down the alley. "Look, Hestia and I are in the Order of the Phoenix. We're supposed to be guarding you."

"Though that seems like a fine thing when your house-elf's more on the ball than I am!" Hestia remarked bitterly.

"Oh, right!" Harry nodded at Dobby. "She's safe."

Dobby warily flicked his finger, cancelling the spell on Auror Jones. A bit disgruntled, she scooped up the invisibility cloak with ill grace, then looked at Mrs Figg. The latter woman said, "I may as well invite you both around for tea. Please, come with me."

Harry stuffed his wand in his back pocket, then tugged his oversize shirt down so it would cover his bum and keep anyone from seeing it. Auror Jones looked a bit disapproving. Harry noticed and scowled. "What?"

"You know, Mad-Eye would tell you you'd blow your buttocks off if you did that."

Against his will, his curiosity began to rise to the fore. "Moody? As in Professor Moody? He's with you?"

"Strictly, I'm not supposed to go telling tales out of school, but it shouldn't be a surprise to you that he's in the Order, Mr Potter," Jones replied, a bit stiffly.

As the foursome approached the end of the alley leading to Wisteria Walk, Mrs Figg said, "Harry, can you please tell your house-elf to go directly to my house with the Invisibility Cloak?"

Harry looked at Dobby and jerked his head, upon which Dobby promptly took the cloak from Auror Jones and popped away. The now-threesome kept walking. "So why does your cloak stink like tobacco? You don't seem like a person who smokes pipes."

Hestia grimaced ruefully as they approached the walkway to the Mrs Figg's house. "Mundungus Fletcher's constantly smoking this absolutely _vile_ tobacco, so any cloak he uses positively stinks of it. He's chronically unreliable, to boot. I came thirty minutes early just in case he'd sneaked off somewhere; I found him on duty, and of course he just _had_ to run off and buy cut-rate Acromantula venom from some shady dealer in Knockturn Alley, and do it _right_ that minute. Before I could even get a word in, he shoved the cloak into my hands then Disapparated. Apparating or the reverse is generally overlooked by the Ministry, but actual spellwork around here could set off your Trace, so no cleaning charms for me."

"And I guess the Ministry of Magic'd love to get me on another Underage Violation, wouldn't they?" Harry frowned. "Sodding Ministry, anyway."

As they entered Mrs Figg's house, the unpleasantly familiar atmosphere settled like a weight around Harry and he deliberately avoided looking at the picture-book Mrs Figg kept of her cats as he made his way to her dining table, which had four chairs around it. Thankfully, Dobby bustled in with a complete tea set and placed it at the centre of the table, babbling that it was "no trouble for Dobby to fix up a small snack for Harry Potter and Mrs Figg and Auror Jones."

Harry gently shushed Dobby and said, "Take a seat, too. Have some tea if you want."

At Mrs Figg's and Hestia Jones's skeptical looks, Harry said, "What? Dobby's been a friend to me for almost as long as Ron and Hermione and if you think I'd refuse him tea just because he's a house-elf—"

Mrs Figg shook her head. "Of course not, Harry. It's just unusual, that's all." She busied herself getting her tea ready, apparently wondering when Harry would again bring up what she had done all those years.

Harry decided not to waste any time. He got the small-potatoes stuff out of the way and said to Hestia, "So Hermione wrote me and mentioned your name. You were undercover with the Order, weren't you? Trying to see the safest way to help her and everything?"

"Yes. We're going to quietly add some enchantments around her house and we'll be arranging to help her parents take a long vacation when she's ready to join you at Sirius Black's house. Headmaster Dumbledore mentioned a letter he got from her and he's already written to explain what's going on. It was hand-delivered it this morning into her postbox, actually."

"Mmf." Harry sipped his tea and turned to Mrs Figg. "And what was your reason for making it so bloody miserable here every time I had to come over?"

A bit shamefacedly, Mrs Figg said, "I didn't want the Dursleys to stop dropping you here, so I had to make it so you wouldn't enjoy it too much and let it be known to them."

Harry slammed down his cup and saucer, rattling them together and causing the other three at the table to jump, startled.

The anger that had roared through him briefly at the Dursleys seemed to come back all in a rush. His words fairly spilled out as he loudly said, "Oh, come on! _Why_ couldn't you just ask me to lie to the Dursleys about what we did here? It's not like I would've gladly blabbered to them about having a grand old time using the Floo – you've got a fireplace there – and gee, maybe _learning about my bloody wizarding heritage_?! If you think I haven't been the butt of jokes from Malfoy and his idiot bookends Crabbe and Goyle over not knowing some weird thing Ron can just rattle off later, think again!"

He held up his hand to forestall objections from either woman, and relentlessly drove on. "I don't really _care_ in the end what those morons think, but bloody effing hell, what could _possess_ you to think that I actually thought enough of the Dursleys to want to blabber to them that you're aware of magic? I used to _dream_ for _years_ about someone – anyone – taking me away from that so-called family of mine! Next best would've been for you to give me a fucking respite instead of more-of-the-same-old-bare-minimum-of-consideration ! Only minus the chores and the bellowing in my face from Uncle Vernon, mind you."

Mrs Figg just stared sadly at him, then cast her gaze down to the table. Hestia Jones seemed puzzled and bewildered at the sudden torrent of words that Harry had just let loose. He couldn't take it anymore and abruptly stood. "Thanks for the tea. I'm going now. Dobby?"

Dobby got off his chair and said, "Dobby will see you back at your house, Harry Potter sir." He popped away, leaving Harry to sketch a wave and briskly rush out of the house, fairly marching back to the Dursleys without a look back at Mrs Figg's house.

* * *

Author Notes: And so the story cracks along! One thing: This will not become a Manip!Dumbledore story. However, Dumbledore _will_ have to acknowledge his faults, as will others who have carried out his instructions. Still hunting for a beta as well, esp as I begin to move into OotP remixing at Hogwarts.


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